How to Cope
by tigerdreams
Summary: Spoilers for Case 1-4. Written for a friendship fic fest. At Manfred von Karma's funeral, Edgeworth and Franziska struggle to come to terms with the damage he did to both of them.


Disclaimer: I don't own the games or the characters; fanfiction is just for funsies.

Spoilers: Case 1-4

A/N: Originally written for a friendship-fic fest on LiveJournal. Reviews make me happy. ^_^

Justice was swift in the California penal system, and murder was a capital offense. The funeral of Manfred von Karma was held on a rainy March morning, and was surprisingly well-attended; Edgeworth privately suspected that most of the "mourners" had only shown up to see for themselves that the old man was really dead. His steely gaze swept the crowd, brushing past the small knots of people chatting and joking, as he sought the one nexus of genuine emotion among the assembled. He found her standing alone under a tree that imperfectly sheltered her from the constant drizzle: Franziska von Karma. Edgeworth dimly remembered hearing that the other von Karma daughter would be absent from the gathering because her little girl had come down with the flu. No one else dared approach the young woman, and as Edgeworth drew closer he could see why: the barely-restrained fury in her expression would cow braver men than himself. Of course, braver men hadn't bandaged Franziska's scraped knee when she'd fallen off her bicycle at age six.

She only noticed him when his umbrella appeared over her head, interrupting the steady dripping of water from the leaves above her. "Little brother."

"Franziska," he returned the neutral greeting. Neither of them were very good at this sort of thing; growing up in the von Karma household did not equip one with the skills necessary to talk about one's emotions. Yet the words demanded to be said. It was Fransizka who finally broke the silence.

"How dare he?" she demanded. Her voice was steady, but her hands, clutching only her purse, trembled slightly with the force of her rage. It was odd seeing her without a whip or riding crop, Edgeworth realized; it made her seem strangely vulnerable. "After everything he taught us, training us to be perfect - to discover _this_? How can he be a murderer, a criminal, no better than the scum he sent to prison every day of his career? How can he do something so wrong, so _low_, and then expect us to revere him as an example of perfection - something to emulate, to live up to? How _dare_ he?" Her voice broke on the last sentence, and Edgeworth was disturbed to realize that he couldn't be sure the streaks of water on her face were solely from the rain.

He wasn't sure what to say; he wasn't sure what there _was_ to say. Instead, he shifted the umbrella to his other hand and placed his arm around her shoulders. She didn't bury herself in his embrace, but neither did she shrug off the awkward gesture. "I know it's worse for you," she said, much more softly, almost reluctantly. "It was your father he killed, and it was you he deceived all these years."

"He deceived both of us," Edgeworth said firmly. "You said it yourself. He made us believe that he was a paragon, to whose example we should aspire. You have a right to be angry at him, Franziska."

"And then what?" she snapped, but much of the force had gone out of her temper. "I've built my life, my career, patterning myself after a lie!"

"No you haven't." He took a moment to marshal his thoughts, considering how to put into words some of the issues he'd been struggling with himself of late. "You've built yourself around a quest for perfection. Manfred von Karma may have been the force that started you on that quest, but his unworthiness doesn't invalidate your efforts, or the goal itself. It just means you need to succeed where he failed, and avoid the mistakes that he made."

"I suppose so," she muttered, lifting her gaze to the open grave where her father lay. The sight seemed to renew her ire, and she flung her purse to the ground. "How could he have let this happen? How could he have let himself do such a thing? How could he betray us like this? It doesn't make sense! It's wrong, all of this is wrong! I won't have it! I'll..." Her tirade abruptly stalled, and she turned to Edgeworth. "But now he's dead, Miles. I want to hurt him, I want to make him pay for what he's done to us, but I can't, because he's dead!"

"I know," he said softly. "You can hit me instead, if you like."

That brought the ghost of a smile to her lips. "That won't help," she protested, but her tone implied that she might be willing to try it anyway, later on. She bent and picked up her leather purse from the wet grass, brushing off a few droplets of water. She looked at Edgeworth again. "Thank you, little brother."

Recognizing her return to composure, he schooled his own features into a neutral expression. "Of course." He allowed his gaze to drift over the dispersing group of mourners. "I will not be remaining in town. We should have lunch together before I leave."

Franziska nodded. "That would be acceptable. In fact, it does not appear that our presence will be required here for much longer. You may take me to lunch when we leave." The two stood in comfortable silence as the rest of the mourners paid their dubious respects to the deceased and went their separate ways into the rainy morning.


End file.
